


Gotham’s Gerent

by kikorangi



Category: DC - Fandom, DCEU, Edward Nygma - Fandom, Gotham - Fandom, Nygmobblepot - Fandom, oswald cobblepot - Fandom
Genre: 10 years later, Flirty Oswald, Fluff, Future Fic, Iceberg Lounge, M/M, as flirty as oswald can get at least, chubby!Oswald, sexual overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 11:44:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16660537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikorangi/pseuds/kikorangi
Summary: A story of personal growth for a man who deserves the world.





	Gotham’s Gerent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geewizzle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geewizzle/gifts).



> Hi all! 
> 
> This was an idea i came up with a couple of months ago and have been chipping away at slowly. A lot of people are freaking out about Oswald getting ‘fat’ in s5, so I wanted to write something that shows he’ll still be the bestest boy. 
> 
> enjoy!!! let me know what you think!!!

Gotham’s Gerent. 

“I’m getting fat.”  
The first words to leave his mouth after an hour of trying on dress shirts, waist coats and crisp new pants. He doesn’t huff, he doesn’t complain, he simply notices. He smoothes over the part of his shirt covering his stomach. He stares side on in the mirror with curious eyes stuck to his growing gut. He’s not round per se, but he doesn’t fit his favourite waist coat anymore. 

“You’re not getting fat, sir. You’re just growing into a King.” A faint voice says behind him. In the mirror, he looks to the short tailor who is neatly packing excess clothing into his suitcase. He’s sporting a dark navy suit he made himself, and a measuring tape around his neck, laying over his shoulders like a lazy scarf. Oswald doesn’t reply, he just simply looks back to his reflection. 

He notes new love handles on either side of his body. He counts only two, which sit just over the waist on his pants. He holds one in each hand and wonders when they grew. He had noticed some extra weight over the past few months but he hadn’t realised he’d gotten to the point of handles. He holds one in each hand and wonders what the weight means. 10 years ago, Oswald was thin and active and made sure that his appearance was perfect. Does he not care about first impressions anymore? Is he getting slack? Should he work the extra weight off?

He looks back to the tailor through the reflection of the mirror. He looks around 60-70 years of age and his body is in good shape. Wrinkles cascade down his face and hands like the pattern running water leaves on sand. In the 10 years they’ve worked together, his body and his suit have never changed. Does he have a better diet? Does he work out? Does he even care about his weight? Does anyone care about their weight?

The tailor looks up from the packed suitcase on the table and smiles at Oswald who still has each hand gripping his love handles and eyes fixated on the navy suit he’s wearing. He gives a soft smile.  
“The reflection in the mirror is only what is on the outside, sir.” He dips his hat, picks up his case and walks out of the room. Oswald looks at himself for a long time after that. 

4 hours later, and Oswald is in his Iceberg Lounge. The new and improved club that now resides within the Museum has more space, provides better entertainment and pays enough of the GCPD to stay open even with the amount of illegal activity surging throughout the lobby. Oswald sits in his throne at the back of his Lounge and watches his patrons drink too much alcohol and throw themselves at each other. He lets people approach him and beg him for work, beg him for money, beg him for sex. He ignores them all and focuses on the people dancing through his club. 

News about The Penguin being gay spread through Gotham like the plague, and that’s exactly what it came back to him as. Rumours of both support and disgust filled the chambers of his mansion and sent him mad. Two years after his unrequited affair with Edward “The Riddler” Nygma, and secrets had only just come out about it. At first it was infuriating- Oswald killed anyone who even brought up the situation. Not for any reason other than the fact it was old news and he was so sick of thinking about those times. After a couple of months, things settled down and Gotham learnt to keep their mouth shut. But after a year or so, he started to get strangers coming up to him at the lounge and asking to dance. And not just any strangers- beautiful, handsome men who had mischievous smiles and dark eyes. One after the other, men would proposition Oswald with sweet nothings and the promise of a good time. As much as he was flattered, Oswald decided he wouldn’t give in to such desires. And during a 10 year period, Oswald kept his abstinence and married himself to his job. 

A decade later, Oswald has men practically falling to his feet, begging for a night to show their worth to The King of Gotham. A decade later, Oswald has started putting on weight. He takes a long sip of the whiskey in his hand. He looks out into the crowd, smiling at the achievements he’s made by staying wholeheartedly committed to work. Someone catches his eye- a tall, lanky man wearing sweatpants and a singlet. A frown makes its way across his face. How did that man get in here?

Without thinking, Oswald struts over to him. He’s standing and a table with 6 friends who are all dressed in the proper attire for this club. For HIS club. He walks over to the man, taps on his shoulder and stands there, waiting. His friends all stop and stare at The Penguin in disbelief. The man in sweatpants seems to be completely oblivious. 

“Excuse me,” Oswald speaks with a strong tone and a stern face. His friends are watching with keen eyes, but the man seems to take no notice. He takes another sip of his drink. Oswald draws a long breathe.  
“Sweatpants are not an acceptable clothing piece for my club.” He states to the back of the mans head. He takes another sip of his drink, continuing to ignore Oswald. His patience is starting to wear.  
“If you’re not going to wear the correct clothes in my club-”  
“There’s no sign.” The man finally turns around with a completely nonchalant expression.  
“What?” Oswald splurts.  
“How am I supposed to know what I can wear into your club if there’s no sign?” Again, completely placid. His tone is stale, his eyes are glossed and his posture is slumped.  
“It wouldn’t take an idiot to ask a friend, or to just look at what the other people in line are wearing!” Oswalds temper is churning and bubbling inside his stomach. People are starting to crowd around and stare. He can hear whispers throughout the crowd and he’s trying to ignore it but its becoming increasingly harder. 

The man continues to ignore Oswald. He can feel an outburst trying to weasel itself out and erupt, but he doesn’t give into the anger. He puts a lid on it and smiles.  
“Follow me.” He turns on his heel and starts walking toward a booth. The seats are taken by a group who quickly pick up their belongings and scatter just in time for Oswald to take a seat. The man follows, and sits on the other side. 

Oswald pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and draws in a long breath. The smoke flows through his lungs like smooth silk, and it calms him down to an average level. The man adjacent to him sculls the rest of his whiskey, sits the empty glass down, and stares straight at Oswald. 

He notices the mans strong facial structure- a bold jawline, sharp cheekbones, pink lips. And even in the dark purple hue of the club, his eyes shine bright green. His hair is short and brown, and sits unruly on his head. In any other situation, Oswald could probably find this man attractive. But looking like this in his pajama’s?

“Names’ Cole. Cole Watson.” He states without breaking eye contact. Oswald takes another draw of his smoke. He’s trying to figure out why he called the man- Cole- over here instead of sending him out of the Lounge. At the time, it seemed like the perfect way to defuse the situation in a calm manner. Now Oswald wishes he’d sent Cole back to bed.  
“Cole.” Oswald repeats, feeling pressured by the eye contact. He wants to look away but his pride has strapped itself in and there won’t be any breaks on that train.  
“Why’d you wanna talk?” Cole asks, now leaning forward over the table with his hands intertwined and outstretched toward Oswald. 

Another drag of his smoke. The toxins in his lungs feel a little more like they’re suffocating him, and he uses that as a sign to put out the smoke. He goes to snuff it out, but Cole snatches it, takes a long draw, and breathes it out into Oswalds face. He doesn’t flinch- instead, he finds it hard to look away.  
“I wanted to know why you’ve come to a club in your nightwear.” Finally, Cole sneaks out a smile and even a scoff. He shakes his head momentarily, before saying “nightwear? This is what I wear everywhere. These are even my nice pants.” Oswald notices the joke, but he can’t bring himself to laugh. Instead he keeps a completely poised expression. Cole finally gives in and looks away, taking the pressure off of Oswalds shoulders. He’s never been good with prolonged intimacy, or any intimacy at that. 

Cole puts the cigarette in his mostly empty glass of whiskey, making a soft hiss as it goes out. Oswald is immediately turned off of his own drink. Cole looks back at him with a sly smile and content eyes.  
“What do you want me to do about my clothes?” He asks, with a tone that perfectly accentuates his impudent grin. Oswald starts turning bright red and prays that the darkness of the club will shade the new colour of his face. He suddenly feels something running up his leg, and quickly realises it’s Coles shoe. His heart starts to stammer and the hairs on his neck stand up straight.  
“You don’t happen to have any clothes I could borrow for the night, do you?” Coles fingers slowly reach out to Oswalds and he can’t do anything. He’s completely frozen in a state of shock and worry. Shock that the tables turned so fast, worried that whatever decision he makes will be a mistake. 

“Hey, you,” he calls over the bouncer closest to their booth, but he can’t manage to tear his gaze away from Cole. “Get everyone out, and then leave. I want everyone out of the club.” The goon stands with a dumbfounded look on his face.  
“But, boss, i don’t know if that’s-”  
“Did I stutter?” Oswald asks rhetorically through gritted teeth. The goon rushes to herd the flock of people outside, as well as the left over guards. Once he hears the door lock, Oswald feels himself heat up again.  
“It uh, it might take me a couple of hours to, uh, find those clothes for you. I might need some, uh, help to look around.” He’s hesitant and he stutters but Oswald manages to get out some flirting. Cole bursts straight into laughter, whipping his head back and reeling. Oswald starts to feel humiliated and goes to get up but Cole pulls him down and completely re-composes himself. 

“King of Gotham and pick up lines.”

The next day, he wakes up in a good mood. He feels looser than usual today, a little bit sore, but better. When he woke up on the floor of his club up against the fire place, he realised Cole was gone. Not that it mattered, but he wish he’d gotten to say goodbye. Maybe people don’t do that after a one night stand?  
Oswald bounces into his room to find an overcoat. As he walks in, Oswald catches a glance of himself in the mirror. He’s reminded then that he’s getting pudgy and for a moment he has to try not to frown. “You’re not getting fat, you’re growing into a King,” he says to his reflection. He straightens his back, brushes his hands over his black suit, repositions his heart-shaped fringe and smiles. It’s not very convincing. 

Today, as a way to figure some personal things out, he’s going to see an old friend. He slides on his dark purple overcoat and picks up the black sunglasses from his bedside table. As he sits the glasses on his face, the doors to his room burst open in an eruption of green vines. They wave around, gliding smoothly through the room and intertwine themselves with the furniture surrounding him. In walks a tall, slim, glowing and ever beautiful Pamela Isley. As she enters, the vines stop their fussing and fix themselves to whatever they have hold of. 

Oswald is speechless. He looks around at the destruction in his room; over turned tables, desks, draws and wardrobes. He looks back to Pamela, who is donned in a long, see through, green lace dress. The lace swirls around into inter-connected roses that flow down to her ankles. Smaller vines wrap around her arms, completing her nature-based outfit. Her orange hair sways with its own breeze, and ripples down her back in natural curls. She has a strong, confident stride as she walks toward Oswald. 

“You could have knocked.” He states, referring to the now non-existent doors she pummelled on the way in. She gives a small giggle.  
“Oh Oswald you beautiful soul, I hear you’re having boy trouble.” She says, a hand extended to his face. She uses her soft hand to brush some dust off of his cheek.  
“Still could have knocked.” He reiterates, clearly bothered about the mess in his room. 

She stalks over to the couch and takes a graceful seat. She clicks her fingers, and one of Oswalds men come running in. By the scent they emit when passing by, Oswald knows that man has been put under Ivy’s spell.  
“We’d like a pot of tea please.” She asks, and waves her hand. The man nods furiously and runs back out again. Oswald let’s out an amused laugh.  
“You don’t have to control my men to get a pot of tea.” He pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips. Pamela smiles.  
“I know. I just love how excited they get. I like giving them a purpose.” Oswald nods his head, and lights the smoke. Pamela let’s out a scoff.  
“Oswald, those things will kill my plants.” She frowns at him until he gets up to open a window and smoke next to it instead. 

“So,” he takes in a long draw, and then breathes out slowly, “why’d you come here so suddenly? I was just on my way over.”  
“You know me Oswald; I hate sitting and waiting. And I knew you’d take forever to stop looking at yourself in the mirror, so I just came over.” The goon comes running back in with a tray of tea, sugar and two cups. He places it down on the table in front of Ivy without looking away from her. She smiles and thanks him before sending him out of the room again. 

“I’m not that vain, Ivy. I just like to make sure I keep up appearances.”  
“Do you want tea? I’m not even thirsty.” She evades the statement purposefully and impudently, making Oswald smile.  
“I’m fine.”  
“Really? Why do you keep glancing at yourself in the mirror and smoothing out your clothes?” She crosses her leg and leans back into the couch. Oswald didn’t even notice he’d been doing that. He quickly snaps his hand back by his side and sighs.  
“I’m gaining weight, Ivy. I’m worried no one will take me seriously if I get fat.” He looks out the window and sighs. Behind him, Pamela tsk’s.  
“Name a single male monarch that was thin.” Oswald turns around to look at his friend with a puzzled face. He cocks his head to the side like a curious dog.  
“What?”  
“Every successful King, politician and Tudor was and is of a bigger size. Gaining a bit of chub is a sign that you’re achieving more success and obtaining more respect. Weight is the symbol of a great King. Don’t be scared of love handles, Oswald.” He nods his head and looks back out the window, taking in her opinion. The Egyptian Pharaohs-  
“The Egyptian Pharaohs were living in the middle of the desert with limited food and water. Don’t be a brat.” She scoffs at Oswald, and ignores the fact that she somehow read his mind. “But, your weight isn’t why I’m here. What’s on your mind?”

Oswald has to take a long inhale of his cigarette before he can start his sentence.  
“I... I spent last night with someone. The whole night.” His face turns rose red and he can’t help but let out a sheepish smile. Pamela giggles and claps her hands together, giving her friend a supportive gaze.  
“And? How did it go?”  
“It was...” He takes another long draw of his cigarette before smiling as he exhales, “it was good. It was really good.” Again, Pamela let’s out a laugh and a grin.  
“So, why am I here then? Just so you can boast about it?”  
“No, not at all. I need your advice.” He snuffs out his smoke in an ashtray and sits down on the armchair adjacent his friend. 

“I haven’t felt that good for a long time. Not since... well, you know. And I don’t know if it’s because I felt good with him, or because what we did felt good.” He blushes even harder. He looks down to his lap to hide his face, but Ivy extends a vine and uses it to gently lift up his chin. She wears a friendly smile on her face and a sparkle in her eyes.  
“I think you’ve been hurt, Os. You’ve been hurt and you deserve to spend the night with whoever you want, whenever you want. If this guy is someone you want to chase, do it. But if it’s the act you’re chasing- well, we both know there are plenty of handsome men in your Iceberg Lounge who’d willingly help you forget that pain.” Oswald can’t help but let his eyes widen. He’s having a hard time talking about this type of intimacy so openly and he uses all of his might not to hide away. 

“But, isn’t that taking advantage of them?” He asks with hesitation. Pamela smiles at her friends innocence. “Not at all. If a man tells you he wants to have sex with you, and you decide you’d like to have sex with him, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.” Oswald can’t help but cough a few times and stand up. He walks over to a table and pours himself a glass of whiskey and downs it all in one go. The liquid burns as it goes slowly down is throat, but it takes his mind off of the unbelievably awkward conversation they’re having. He coughs again before sitting back down. Pamela can’t help but laugh. 

Later on, after Ivy leaves, Oswald is lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. One night stands’ seem so impure, but then, he is a lying, stealing, murdering criminal. But using people for sex just to ‘forget his pain’ seems so wrong. Worse than robbing banks, worse than murder, worse than trafficking illegal ammunition. 

But maybe Ivy is right? Cole seemed happy enough to get up and leave during the early hours of the morning without saying anything, so maybe that’s the norm? Oswald sighs outwardly and sinks his body into the silk bedsheets he’s lying on. He takes a couple of deep breaths, rubs his face, gets up, and makes his way to the Iceberg Lounge. 

A couple of weeks pass by quickly in a haze of alcohol and sex. In a fortnight, he manages to bring a different man home every night. At first, he found it hard to express the idea to a man he found attractive, but after a few nights, he realised he could just sit in one spot and they’d come to him. Of course he’s had propositions before, but now that he was listening, he realised how many there were. On any given night, 20-25 men would suggest the idea to him. And it was fun and educational, but he still doesn’t feel any different to how he did two weeks ago. He still feels a little bit empty. Sex is fun, but Oswald has decided he’s probably looking for connection, not fun. He’s looking for someone that is there for him during important decisions, someone who listens and learns and accepts Oswald for who he is. Someone who sees the cracks and dents in him and loves him for it. Someone like- 

Someone.

Oswald sits comfortably in his purple cushioned throne. He sparks up a cigarette and has a slow sip of his whiskey. For the next 3 hours, men make advances on him, but the novelty is wearing off. The sweet nothings they whisper into his ear with seductive delicacy do nothing for him, which he takes as a sign that tonight will probably be his last one night stand. His eyes scan the room for someone that looks like fun, but instead he realises that a lot of the people his eyes land on look exactly the same. Each man is tall, thin and generally wears glasses. He neglects to think about the reason behind it. 

Without Oswald noticing, someone has pulled a chair up next to him. By the time Oswald takes notice, the man is already well established in his seat with a bottle of beer in his hand and a smoke hanging lazily between his fingers. Oswald starts to object to this person sitting next to him, but as he turns around, The Penguin identifies who it is. Tonight he’s wearing a dark grey suit, with a white button down shirt and light pink tie. His suit is complimented by a pink pocket square and a flower pinned into one of his upper button holes. His short hair has been freshly shaved around the sides and back, and the top is well styled. Black frames sit comfortably in his nose, which glisten under the royal blue light of the club. 

“I didn’t recognise you out of your nightwear.” Oswald remarks, unable to tear his gaze away from the man sitting next to him. Cole offers a grin.  
“It’s a special occasion.” He replies. When Oswald asks why, Cole widens his grin, sculls the little bit left of his beer, and says “seeing you, of course.” Oswald scoffs but blushes nonetheless. He rolls his eyes and huffs on his cigarette. They sit and look at each other for a few minutes in silence. Oswald takes delight in observing all of the little things he hadn’t noticed about Cole last time, like the freckles sprayed over his nose and cheeks, and the tattoo peaking up from under his collar. 

“I just got back from my mates wedding. Im the designated driver so I’m taking it easy.” Cole explains without being questioned. Oswald was curious though- not that he thought Cole would come back just for him.  
“Will you be staying here long?” Oswald asks, and even he picks up on the suggestive tone in his voice. Cole gets up, pulls his chair around and places it directly in front of Oswald. He leans in so that their faces are only inches apart and places a warm hand gently on Oswalds mid-thigh. Cole is warm and he smells like aftershave.  
“You’ve gotten confident since I last saw you. Learnt a few tricks?” Oswald gulps, but keeps a composed expression on his face.  
“Interested in finding out?” A presumptuous smile spreads across his red hot face, and his remark renders Cole speechless. He opens his mouth to say something, but instead he responds by standing up, grabbing his hand, and pulling him off towards the outside door. Once they get outside, he drags Oswald through the crowds of people on the street, around the corner, and into the big double doors of the museum. 

Oswald wants to tell Cole there was a much easier way to find a room, but they’re in the moment now and he doesn’t want to ruin that. After being taken around in circles in his own museum, Cole finally stops walking. He turns to face Oswald, who is extremely amused. 

“This place is a lot bigger than I thought. You have, like, 6 lounge rooms that look the same.”  
“You’ve taken us to the same room 6 times.” Oswald smirks at the puzzled look on Coles face and looks around the room. They’re currently in the meeting room- not ideal, but there’s a fire place and enough space in here for whatever comes next. 

“Everyone out.” Oswald says to the guards. There’s 4; 2 at each door. They start to collect their items but he isn’t feeling especially patient tonight, especially with Cole standing there, smoking a cigarette and taking off his suit jacket.  
“Everyone out!” He screams, and the guards scramble out of the room. Next recruitment day, he’s not hiring anyone under 30. 

He waits to hear the click of the lock, but before it has a chance to sound, Cole has both hands resting on Oswalds cheeks and their foreheads connecting.  
“Relax, Oswald. We have,” he quickly glances at the watch on his wrist, “4 hours and 13 minutes until I have to go. Plenty of time.” His voice is calm, and Oswald nods twice. Cole leans in painstakingly slow and kisses Oswald with his warm, soft lips. 

3 hours and 58 minutes later, they lay on the ground next to a fireplace surrounded by overturned furniture and clothes. 

Oswald lays with his head on Coles chest. He looks down at the mans body- naturally, a chiseled torso and minimal fat. Oswald suddenly feels extremely uncomfortable about his body and reaches for his shirt. As he sits up, Cole looks over with a puzzled look.  
“Do you need me to feed the fire again?”  
“No, I’m not cold.” Oswald replies, completely stale.  
“Are you getting up?”  
“No.”  
“Are you going to lay down with me for the rest of my 15 minutes?” Cole asks, causing Oswald to pause as he buttons up his shirt. He turns his head to the side a bit, but then looks back down to his buttons. Suddenly, Oswald is pushed onto his back with his arms stretched up and Cole on top of him; their hands intertwined, one of Coles legs in between Oswalds’, and and one on the left side. He looks down at Oswald with an emotionless face. 

“Why are you acting weird?” Cole asks, but Oswald refuses to answer. Cole rolls his eyes and moves closer to Oswalds face.  
“Are you going to answer me?” He demands more so than asks. Oswald doesn’t like that, and his face starts to twist.  
“Don’t forget Cole, I’m still in charge here. I’m The Pen-”  
“Yeah, well,” he interrupts without hesitation, “you’re having a tantrum about something and I want to clear it up before I leave.” 

Oswald can’t believe it. Cole completely talked over him without any fear of the consequences. He’s had people killed for interrupting him, and here he is now, laying helplessly under a man half of his weight who has the audacity to talk over him. This isn’t even the first time- he did it twice the last time they saw each other too!

But Oswald knows he isn’t actually angry about that. He knows there’s something else on his mind, but he doesn’t want to embarrass himself.  
“Don’t worry about embarrassment. Just tell me what’s on your mind.” Cole reassures with a friendly smile. Oswald is getting sick of wearing his feelings on his face. 

“Alright, fine. I’m worried my weight is going to affect my respectability and status.” He replies, a little bit red in the cheeks.  
“Did people respect you more when you were thinner?” Cole asks. Oswald goes to answer, but he doesn’t really have one. 

If he thinks about it, Oswald has never really been fully respected by someone. Working for Fish, he was never even looked at. Maroni and Falcone appreciated his brain, but never appreciated him as a person. Jim Gordon used him for information and connections, and was never grateful for it. Sofia pretended to understand him purely as a tactic to overtake him. The only person to truly regard him as a human being was Edward, and even he’s tried to kill Oswald on several occasions. 

“See, weight has absolutely nothing to do with your character, dignity or prestige. The only way to gain veneration from those you seek it from is balancing fear and love. Every great king knows when either is appropriate.” Cole adds in a mellifluous tone. Oswald nods in agreeance- although he knows for an absolute fact he can’t keep a lid on his temper, he can acknowledge that plenty of successful people are of a bigger size and still highly regarded by their peers. 

Oswald smiles at the man on top of him. Cole smiles back.  
“Wearing sweatpants to your club was the best decision I’ve made all year.” Cole says, moreso to himself. Oswald squeezes his hand.  
“This is my last time, though.” Cole kisses Oswald, who understands. It was fun, and one last night with Cole was a good way to end this phase in his life.  
“Do you mean what we just finished? Or what we’re about to begin?” Oswald suggests, earning a surprised look on Coles face.  
“Listen to you! Give you a couple of weeks of sleeping around and suddenly you know how to get me all hot and bothered.” Cole laughs before sealing their final show with a kiss. 

For the next 12 days following, Oswald stays at home with a lot to think about. He thinks about his weight, his plans, his city, his love life. Everything he does will always directly affect one or all of them, so he’s taking some time to consider his options and ideas. 

This is the job that he likes the least- the thinking. He just wants to get out there and start new projects, but now that he’s so high on the food chain, he needs to keep on track of everything. When he and Edward were working together, their dynamic was perfect. Edward kept things logical, and Oswald kept people in order. They were the perfect duo; the ideal balance between brains and brute. But since their separation, Oswald has had a hard time finding someone else who can keep up that rationale. He’s had people close, but no where near enough. After years of hoping and trying, Oswald has decided he has to do it alone and learn to play both sides. But, just because he’s managing it, doesn’t mean he enjoys it. 

He thinks about Edward and wonders how he is. Last Oswald heard, Ed was living in the library and thriving as The Riddler. Oswald has thought about meeting with Edward just to catch up, or talk about a collaboration, but he can’t go through with the idea. He’s sick of being betrayed by someone he continues to trust over and over again. He’s also sick of the nagging feeling he gets in his heart while thinking about Ed. 

Oswald sighs at the pile of papers on his desk to sign. His eyesight starts to distort, and his head hangs low. He yawns a long, wide-mouthed yawn, that causes him to feel more tired than he originally was. He shakes his head, rubs his face and sighs. After 12 days of nothing but work, Oswald decides to go to the club. 

When he arrives, his throne is practically calling out to him. As he takes a seat, a glass of whiskey is delivered on a tray and the cigarette in his mouth is lit. He sinks into the plush velvet with a warm smile. 

Tonight, a smooth jazz band is playing. The saxophonist goes hard on a solo, and it’s so calming that Oswald finds himself nodding off in his seat. But as he’s almost asleep, the band starts playing ‘Wake up Alone’ by Amy Winehouse. Oswalds eyes flutter open and his ears suddenly become more engaged. 

As the song starts, a lot of patrons sing along to the lyrics with a drink in their hand and their hearts in their voice. Oswald can’t help but hum along, smiling at the crowd in his club. Tonight is particularly packed, which is an extreme ego boost for him. If so many people are attending his club, the business must be doing well. He also adds that to a list of reasons why his weight isn’t affecting his reputability. 

But, in the dense crowd of drunk, heartbroken people, a green suit stands out. The jacket and pants wear the same bejewelled shine, and the forest green grabs his attention among a sea of plain grey and black. A green bowler hat floats above the crowd as the person wearing it wades through. Oswald immediately recognises the suit he picked for the man himself, and his heart skips a beat. His stomach twists and turns in confusion. Is he excited or nervous? Is that feeling adrenaline or apprehension? But he doesn’t have much time to decide on a feeling as the man suddenly appears in front of him. 

Oswald takes in a long draw of his cigarette. He can’t help his eyes travelling from Edwards shoes up to his face. This man is an entire snack and Oswald is starving. Somehow, he has managed to completely disregard any ill-minded thoughts or feelings about Ed, and currently can’t stop staring. Ed gives a lazy smile. 

“I see you’ve taken up smoking.” The taller man says, and proceeds to pull the cigarette out of Oswalds hand. He snuffs it out in the ashtray on the small table next to him.  
“I see you still only own one outfit.” Oswald retorts, crossing his right leg over his left, and leaning back into the cushioning. Ed offers a chuckle. He takes off his hat and places it onto the table, revealing brown, messy hair.  
“When you know you look good in something, you wear it to every important occasion. Like you and your purple overcoat.” Ed looks away and orders one of the waiters to get him a glass of whiskey. When he looks back, he sighs. Oswald snorts when he realises that Edwards completely correct. 

“You know, Oswald, people talk.” He runs a hand through his tostled hair from front to back.  
“About what?” He asks, trying not to sound too eager.  
“About you. About your extracurricular activities. Your sudden interest in being extremely friendly and social to specific patrons of your club.” Oswald knows that this comment is a power play, but he won’t let himself be roped in.  
“What can I say, old friend? I like loyal customers, and the best way to achieve that is to give out bonuses.” Oswald takes a sip of his whiskey, and lights another cigarette. Edward scoffs.  
“Bonuses? This isn’t Donut King, Oswald. You don’t give out cards to people and give them a blowjob everytime they collect five stamps.” Edward replies, rolling his eyes and taking a slow sip of his drink. Oswalds eyes widen in shock.  
“Excuse me?” Oswald doesn’t like that comment. And even though his brain is reminding him it’s just power play, his heart doesn’t like being suddenly bombarded with judgement; especially from someone like Edward whom he hasn’t seen for years. 

At this point, Edward doesn’t even know him anymore. All he knows is what he remembers, which is a naive child with a short temper and a big heart. But that’s not who he is anymore. He is a respected criminal. he is the king of Gotham. Edward is still a bottom feeder, while Oswald has risen and continues to rise. 

Oswald takes a deep breath- in through his nose, out through his mouth. He closes his eyes, and after a few seconds, reopens them with a smile.  
“Are you here for a specific reason?” He asks, no longer fully invested in this conversation. Hopefully Edwards business doesn’t concern him at all, and he’ll leave Oswald alone. Ed takes the smoke out of Oswalds hand again and snuffs it out, earning a mean look from him. Ed doesn’t take any notice.  
“I want a meeting with you. Tonight. Not here.” Oswald cocks his head with a curious lean. What could be so important? And why did it have to wait until 1:39 in the morning?

Oswald considers his options. Edward is an old friend, and generally wouldn’t do something so out of character like this unless it was important. On the other hand, he’s being a dick. He looks at Ed, who is staring back with impatient eyes. Oswald sighs and stands up. 

“Well, I guess we had better move to the meeting room.”  
“Not the meeting room,” Ed says, too quickly. Oswald furrows his eyebrows at Ed, “there’s too many of your people around. We’ll meet in your room.” He demands, and starts walking toward the side door. Oswald wants to disagree, but by the time he finds a calm way to say it, Edward is already walking through the door. Oswald shakes his head and follows. 

He trails behind Edward who weaves through the museum like he knows his way around. Oswald can’t find enough energy to ask Edward about it, so instead he ponders the reason behind their sudden meeting. 

Could it be work? Edward has been quiet lately, what with Jerome ruining the city and this Batman character running around after him. That’s why Oswald has been keeping on the down-low; so maybe Ed’s looking for a partner? Or maybe it has something to with territory? Maybe Ed’s looking to buy some more land? Both of these ideas are viable, but they seem unrealistic for this time in the morning. He ignores the thought that Ed could be here to say sorry for being an unreliable, unloyal, all around asshole of a friend over the years. 

Thanks to all of the thinking, Oswald is left behind. He quickly rushes to his room and when he walks in, he finds it empty. He’s about to sigh when suddenly Edward shoves him up against the wall next to the door. He kicks the door shut with his foot while holding Oswald hostage against the wall with his right arm above Oswald, and his left hand next to Oswalds head. 

Oswald stares up to the man with his mouth open. All of that happened so fast and he’s a little disoriented but he can’t make himself move. Edward stares at the shorter man with an intense glare. His teeth are clenched, which accentuates his cheekbones and jawline. His usually glowing eyes are a dark green, and it shouldn’t, but it intimidates Oswald. 

“D-Did you have something on your mind, Edward?” Oswald asks with hesitancy. He doesn’t like not being in charge. He doesn’t like that Edward has something over him.  
“I don’t like sharing you.” Edward replies through gritted teeth. Oswald scoffs and gives the man over him a disbelieving glare.  
“Sharing me? You haven’t come to see for me for years! You don’t own any part of me or-”  
“Oswald. Listen to me. I don’t like that you’re with people that aren’t me. I don’t like that you’re connecting with people that aren’t me. I don’t like that you’re bringing home men that don’t truly know you like I do.” Edwards face remains the same, but toward the end, his voice softens slightly. Oswald is completely baffled at the change in tempo. 10 minutes ago he thought Edward could be here on business, and suddenly he’s held against the wall being accused of sleeping on men that aren’t Edward. 

Oswald let’s out a short giggle. Then another one, and another one. That turns into a chuckle, which turns into full blown laughter. He pushes Edward away and walks to the tray of whiskey next to his window. He pours the drink, downs it in one swallow, and pours another one. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his case of cigarettes. As he lights one, Edward walks over and pours himself a glass of whiskey. They look at each other for a small moment. Ed looks tired and drunk. 

“You don’t get to be jealous of who I choose to spend my time with, and you especially don’t get to be jealous of who i choose to sleep with.”  
“Oswald-”  
“No, you listen. I didn’t do everything right by you, but I loved you. I would have done anything to make you happy, and in return, you tied me to a car left me to die.”  
“Well, you didn’t die-”  
“No, Edward, you listen to me this time. You don’t love me and I don’t love you. You’re here because you’re lonely and drunk, not because you had some kind of epiphany. And I’m still hung up over feelings from a long time ago. I’m here because part of me believed you’d be here to apologise, or maybe even to confess your love to me. But I don’t want that, and you don’t want me.” Oswald takes a long draw of his smoke and breathes it out slowly. Edward looks down at his drink and sighs. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing here. Not really. I guess I just needed a reminder that I’m more than The Riddler. I needed to be Edward Nygma for a minute, and I guess I knew you’d supply that for me. I’m sorry Os- I’m going to get going.” He puts his glass down but Oswald places a hand on Edward to stop him. He gently grabs Ed’s hand and walks them over to the couch in front of the fire. Edward sits down and Oswald places his head on the taller mans shoulder. Both of them take a moment to appreciate the ambiance and peace in the room. 

For so long, Oswald has been dreaming of this moment. The moment Edward came running back with a confession and an apology. But this wasn’t at all what he expected, and it came too late. This is something that Oswald from a decade ago needed, but not the Oswald from today. He needs to be stable, he needs to be strong, he needs to be confident. And Edward isn’t the right person for his love life right now. No one is. 

No one is. 

Oswald smiles at the fire in front of him. That was the answer all along. He doesn’t need people to validate him- he only needs to validate himself. Over the past month, Oswald has been stressed about his weight, his love life, and his career. But, after weeks of questions and experiments, he’s finally come to terms with the fact that only he holds the key to his own success. He shouldn’t be sitting around, waiting excitedly for the next man to come along and whisper sweet nothings until the lies sound real enough to make him feel good for 5 minutes a day. He shouldn’t be pushing for answers about his weight and the toll it may take on his business. He’s Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot- also known as the King of Gotham. Nothing changes that fact. 

“I noticed that every guy you slept with looks just like me.” Edward finally pipes up. Oswald snorts.  
“Anyone would think you’ve been watching me.”  
“Anyone would think there was a reason behind your behaviour.” Ed replies. Oswald finished what’s left of his whiskey and throws the rest of his cigarette into the empty glass.  
“I was looking to fill a hole, and I thought it was you. But I think I just needed closure.”  
“How do you feel now?”  
“I feel better about our situation. I feel better knowing that we’re finally at a place where we can be friends.”  
“I can sense a ‘but’ coming on.” Edward says slowly, and yawns afterward.  
“But, I think in the end I just have a type.” Oswald replies, earning a soft but happy sigh. Oswald nestles closer to his friend.  
“You know, Oswald, you’re gaining weight.” Edward says in a sleepy voice. As he lies his head on Oswalds, the man replies with “I’m growing into a King.”


End file.
